Earland Khan's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

The flood spat the brothers out at the mountain's foot. Earland Khan lay in the mud, two keys heavy in his cloak. When his turtle crawled close, its shell showed the map's last mark—a tree over still water. Earland pressed a wet finger to it. "The third key," he said. "One more." He climbed to his feet and followed the mark south, his brothers close behind. The trail ended in a silent grove. In its center stood a great tree with a bronze key hung in its bark. A face glared out of its trunk, carved from wood. As Earland stepped near, the roots pulled loose from the soil. Vines uncoiled from the branches like green arms. The tree hauled itself upright and swung a fist of tangled wood. Earland threw himself aside. The blow cracked the ground where he'd stood. "It won't sit still like the others!" he shouted. Jimmy Khan hobbled forward, leaning on his wooden staff. The old hermit had spent his life among trees, and he studied this one the way a man reads an old friend gone mad. "Its roots feed it," Jimmy said. "Cut the water. Cut its strength." Earland understood. He raised his coral staff and pulled the pond dry. Water rose in a shining rope and left the soil bare. The tree groaned. Its vines drooped. But it was not enough. The thing still lashed out and caught Brave across the shoulder, throwing him down. "Together, then," Earland said. "Like before." Jimmy stabbed his staff at the ground. Green light poured out, and fresh roots burst up to snare the tree's limbs. The guardian strained against its own kind. Earland swung the stolen water high and froze it. Ice sheathed the trunk and locked the branches in place. Brave Khan dragged himself up, blood on his lip, fists already smoking. "Now it burns," he said. He pressed both flaming hands to the frozen bark. Dry wood caught fast. Fire raced up the trunk and ran along the branches. The carved face split and screamed. The tree thrashed, but the roots and ice held it fast. Its vines curled and blackened. At last the great trunk cracked down the middle and toppled. Earland stepped over the smoking wood and pulled the bronze key from the bark. Three keys now. He held them up together in the firelight—gold, silver, bronze. The sunken castle would open at last. But as the tree burned down to ash, the ground began to shake. The dry pond bed split wide. Cold seawater rushed up from below and swallowed the grove. Earland staggered as the water climbed his legs. He gripped the three keys tight. The path to the castle had opened beneath his feet, and it was pulling them all down into the dark.